


maybe I'm waking up today

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Series: season 10 codas [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Mark of Cain, s10e18 book of the damned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I...” Cas starts after a beat of silence but cuts himself off with a small frown.</p><p>He leans back against the bedroom door and Dean doesn’t have to turn around to know the look the angel is giving him, “Is it always this loud, Dean?” </p><p>The Mark. The Book.</p><p>The rushing of blood, the pounding of his heartbeat, the echoes of screams - they’re there.<br/>“Sometimes,” he lies and pushes himself up before walking over to the bed, keeping his back to Cas the whole time. “Not usually.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe I'm waking up today

**Author's Note:**

> title and lyrics at the beginning from [this song](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jaymesyoung/illbegood.html). warnings for dean's mental headspace. //shrug emoji

_My past has tasted bitter for years now,_  
_So I wield an iron fist_  
_Grace is just weakness_  
_Or so I've been told._  
_I've been cold, I've been merciless_  
_But the blood on my hands scares me to death_

 

* * *

 

 

Dean shuts his bedroom door a little more forcefully than he intends to after dinner and immediately rests against it.

He lets his head fall back and his eyes close as he takes a couple deep breaths, just trying to collect himself. Trying to remember how to breathe without worrying that someone else in the room knows how hard it is.

Cas has his grace back and they’ve been dancing around it all night.

Cas has his grace back, and Dean’s got the Mark, and they’re both too damn scared to look at each other. They’re both too fucking scared of what they might see looking back at them. 

His hands are shaking with the effort it took to sit next to his best friend the entire night and not reach out and touch him like he wants. They’re shaking even still, and Dean can’t get them to stop, and he feels a little ridiculous hiding from the only three people in the world who love him.

“Shake it off, man,” he mutters to himself and does just that, shaking his upper body out as he walks over to the mirror on his dresser. 

Ever since that moment in the bathroom, Dean’s been paying more attention to his reflection. Been paying more attention to what he might see.

His eyes don’t flash black today but he doesn’t look like himself either.

He wonders if it will ever stop feeling like he’s wearing somebody else after the Mark is gone - if they ever get the Mark gone.

A quiet knock on the door interrupts that train of thought and Dean clears his throat, answering without thinking about it, “Yeah, come in.” 

For whatever reason, his brain is convinced it’s Charlie. She texted him a lot over the first few weeks after she left and he’d only answered when she sounded desperate or worried. 

She probably wants to talk or whatever and - well. Dean wouldn’t mind that, exactly.

It would be nice to have someone he could talk to that he’s not apparently destined to kill at some point. It would be nice to have someone he doesn’t have to lie to.

"Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs as he closes the door gently behind him.

Of course it’s Cas. Of fucking  _course_. 

Dean smiles despite the Mark flaring up on his arm, despite his own anxiety and trepidation. Cas is here. Cas is safe, for now. He’s not dying anymore. That’s a win in their fucking column.

“Hey,” he answers back without looking up from where his hands are resting on the old wood.

He’s been meaning to refurbish the furniture in his bedroom for months now. It’s old and the paint is starting to crack, the varnish is dulling, it’s just - it’s aging. Poorly. And it’s something he can fix. 

“I...” Cas starts after a beat of silence but cuts himself off with a small frown.

He leans back against the bedroom door and Dean doesn’t have to turn around to know the look the angel is giving him, “Is it always this loud, Dean?” 

The Mark. The Book.

The rushing of blood, the pounding of his heartbeat, the echoes of screams - they’re there.

“Sometimes,” he lies and pushes himself up before walking over to the bed, keeping his back to Cas the whole time. “Not usually.”

Always. Around Sam and Cas, it’s always there, in the back of his mind, egging him on. Telling him to go ahead, finish them off.  _It’ll be fun_ , it says.  _Just think of all the times they’ve hurt you_ , it taunts. 

He doesn’t have to wonder if Cas knows that. He can read the slight shift in the room’s atmosphere.

Before, that was instinct. Familiarity. Now, though? Now, it’s ingrained.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and his eyes close out of habit, his body relaxing without his permission. He hates himself for it immediately, for the control he lets Cas have over him, but the tension drains from his body before he can stop it. At least now he knows that it’s not Cas’ mojo that makes him react like that.

“Dean,” Cas keeps his voice quiet, barely above a murmur, “Look at me?” 

He shakes his head a little and squeezes his eyes closed tighter. 

Cas turns him around gently, giving Dean an out any time he wants, but he doesn’t fight it.

He’s so  _tired_  of lying to Cas. 

“Oh,” the angel breathes out, clearly surprised. “Oh...” His voice goes a little sadder, “Oh, Dean.” 

Neither one of them says anything as Cas’ hand comes up to rest on his cheek.

“You’re...” Cas trails off, brushes a thumb over Dean’s cheek. 

He nods, his eyes still closed and his voice rougher than he’d care to admit, “Yeah.” 

“Oh  _Dean_ ,” Cas says more sadly this time and takes a step closer.

Dean feels himself leaning into the other man’s warmth reflexively, like he’s a magnet being pulled towards its other half. 

It  _terrifies_  him. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone...?” Cas’ breath is ghosting across his face, and Dean can practically  _feel_  his eyes seeing into Dean’s soul. 

He shrugs a little and flexes his fingers, trying to fight off the urges from the Mark, “Dunno... didn’t seem important.” 

Neither one of them says anything but their hands reach for each other at the same time. Cas takes the hand that’s under the Mark and twines their fingers together loosely, his other hand moving to the back of Dean’s neck carefully.

His voice is nothing short of gentle when he whispers, “Dean... look at me...” He hesitates for a moment before adding, “Please?” 

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and opens his eyes slowly, keeping them fixed on their hands. 

He can see the slight glow around Cas’ hands and it’s - it makes his heart stop for a second, makes him forget to breathe. 

Cas’ thumb pressing gently into the base of his neck makes him snap out of it and he looks up quickly, completely unprepared for what he sees.

“W-w-wings,” he stutters out, like all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

His best friend’s smile is sad, if not a little sheepish, “Ah... those.” 

Logically Dean knows this isn’t  _really_  what Cas’ wings look like - what he sees, even with the Mark, is what Cas wants him to see them as. It’s what his brain can comprehend. 

Whatever Cas’ wings really look like, there’s... Dean sees some feathers fall. There’s gaps where feathers should be, where something should be protecting him. They look like they’ve been ripped to shreds and glued back together again and - well. Maybe that’s exactly what happened to them.

“Does it... hurt?” He breathes out after a few minutes of stunned silence, still unwilling to look at Cas’ face.

Cas smiles a little bit and ducks his head carefully, “Not... not really, no.”

“Liar,” Dean mumbles reflexively with a small smile. 

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” the other man deadpans. Dean rolls his eyes a little bit.

Cas squeezes his hand gently and Dean’s eyes slowly move up his chest, hesitating around the lines of Cas’ neck for a moment.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to see - if he’ll see some part of Cas’ true form, if he’ll see all of it or if he’ll see something worse. 

Instead, he just sees Cas looking at him with concern written all over his face. The same blue eyes, the same eye crinkles, the same frown, the same chapped lips. It’s just... it’s Cas.

Cas smiles a little bit when Dean’s mouth falls open in a small ‘o’ and he huffs a laugh, “Disappointed?”

“You’re you,” Dean explains dumbly. “Or, well - you’re you. But you...” 

He reaches up idly and moves his hand around the edges of what appears to be a halo, never touching it.

“That. You have that.” 

He doesn’t want to know what exactly Cas sees when he looks at him. He’s too scared to ask.

Cas chuckles quietly, “Yes. I have that.”

Dean shoves him gently as he mumbles, “Dick.” 

Cas smiles and steps forward after a moment, leaning in to press a careful kiss to Dean’s forehead.

His eyes close instinctively and he shudders a little bit, his grip tightening on Cas’ hand.

“You still look like you,” Cas murmurs against the skin there, moves the hand on the back of Dean’s neck down to his waist to pull him into a hug. “You’re still you, Dean.” 

Dean makes a noise that’s supposed to be a laugh but he’s not sure, he thinks it might be a sob. Maybe it is a laugh and that’s just what they sound like now.

“Your soul is still there,” Cas promises him and tightens his arm around Dean when he hears the noise. “Your soul is still as bright as it ever was, Dean Winchester.” 

He lets out another noise and manages to get out, trying to joke, “Look at that, a demon with a soul... does that make you Buffy?” 

Dean sets his forehead on Cas’ shoulder and grips his hand as tightly as he can, trying not to freak out. Trying to keep his breathing together, to remember to breathe at all, to stop the panic attack he can feel clawing its way to the surface. 

Eventually he realizes he’s crying.

He’s crying and he’s holding onto Cas for dear life, like he’s afraid they’re in the middle of the ocean and Cas is the only thing keeping him afloat.

He’s not entirely wrong.

Cas just holds him through it, ignores the smoke he can see lingering around Dean. Ignores the Mark’s constant taunting.

His grace is just as loud, just as angry, urging him to fight back.

It just makes him cling tighter to Dean and kiss the top of his hair, promising him (again) that they’ll figure something out.

“We’ll figure  _something_  out.” 

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Dean calms down.

Cas moved them onto the bed a few minutes ago and he’s dutifully avoided acknowledging the fact that Dean’s been crying.

Dean scoots away from Cas and wipes his cheeks off, keeping his eyes on the bed in between them, “So...”

“Yes,” the other man nods, his voice quiet and his gaze focused somewhere else as well. “So.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh and smiles, carefully taking Cas’ hand that’s closest to his own, “Shut up.” 

Cas smiles but doesn’t say anything, lets Dean fidget with his hand as much as he wants. It’s interesting enough, apparently, that he spends a few minutes tracing over the lines in Cas’ palm with his fingers carefully. 

“Hey...” Dean murmurs quietly, brushing his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand, “You ever been to a beach?”

“All of them,” Cas replies quietly, with a small smirk on his face.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, leaning forward to headbutt his shoulder gently, “Shut up. I mean, like...” He smiled a little bit to himself, “Y’know, swim trunks, cooler with beer in it, sandcastles, swimming in the surf, riptides - the whole cheesy nine yards.” 

He makes an ‘ahh’ noise and squeezes Dean’s hand gently, “Then no, I have not.”

Dean nods a little bit, ignoring the Mark on his arm, “We should go. The four of us... or me and you. Or you, me and Sammy.”

Cas smiles, “We can do that.”

“Good,” Dean lets out a breath, surprised at how steady his voice was. “Good.”


End file.
